The Orphan's Tale (52 page)

The bridge linked the Quai de Bourbon with the right bank.
He could stand there and survey the Hotel de Ville with its high, gabled roof, and, closer, enjoy the almost Romanesque outline of the church of St. Gervais. He could see the spire of the cathedral of Notre Dame and, beyond it, the broad-shouldered bulk of its towers. Now, silhouetted against the eastern sky and catching the last glow of sunset, they seemed to sparkle.

He leaned back against the railing with a happy sigh and looked up at the sky.
Pegasus was galloping across the southwestern sky. Malet remembered the dreams he had had as a child, of swinging astride that great white back, seizing a handful of that billowing mane, and soaring with him across the stars.

A
cross from Pegasus, in the northeast, was Taurus the bull. Hercules was setting in the west, and Polaris shone to the north, clear and constant. They had been his companions, guards and comforters from the time he was a child. He smiled up at them and then let his eyes sweep across the glitter of the Milky Way. How distant they were, how serene and pure, the guardians of the sky, looking down on the tiny constellation that was Paris, making the concerns of her citizens seem so small and insignificant in comparison!

It was wonderfully restful to lean back and gaze up at them.
But, Malet thought regretfully, he was not Hercules or Orion, and he did not ride Pegasus. He was one of the guardians of Paris, and he had important work to do.

He surveyed the earthbound rat that was Constant Dracquet and began to smile again.
Dracquet would be finished for good and all within the next twenty-four hours. He would menace no one ever again. He would never again be able to hire killers to snuff out the lives of those who opposed him. Never again would that impostor roam at liberty, usurping the name and house of Victor-Marie Dracquet, who had been Paul Malet's best friend before he was shot by a sniper while they were riding on patrol on an icy November day in Russia twenty-one years before.

He might, perhaps, have troubled himself a little over the question of how to arrest a member of the British royal family without causing an international uproar, but he didn't think of it.
Every division of society has its own royalty, and while a man might fit into more than one division, his rank seldom does. Jacques Cheat-Death's 'Dauphin' viewed all criminals as a group regardless of their breeding. He did not believe in coddling crooks.

He turned his thoughts from criminals.
All was well with the Prefecture for the time being, and all was most well with the 12th arrondissement.

And
how was Paul Malet?

He cocked his head, and his smile gentled.
Paul Malet was very well indeed. He loved a lady who, he was now convinced, cared for him as well. He would be able to speak openly to her once he left the Rose d'Or, and he was certain that, if he offered marriage, she would accept him. The anticipation was both painful and sweet, and the flutter of his heart whenever he thought of speaking with Elise made him feel humble and just a little foolish.

He looked up at Pegasus again, then swung his gaze east.
Taurus was well above the horizon now, and Orion was not far behind. Orion was his favorite constellation: the Hunter, the Guardian. Whatever else could be said against Paul Malet, he thought, one had to admit that he was a superb hunter. Tomorrow should prove a successful chase. He inclined his head to Orion and lost himself in delicious speculation concerning the next day's probable outcome.

ELISE FINDS INSPECTOR MALET PUZZLING

"
Welcome back, M. Guardian Angel," said Elise some hours later when Malet returned to the Rose d'Or. She was sitting beside the fire, a screen pulled up to shield her face from the worst of the heat. She had been writing a letter earlier, and the result of that endeavor sat on the mantelpiece waiting to be posted to the Bois de Boulogne. Now she was engaged, prosaically, in darning stockings. She said, "You'll be happy to know that all went most well!"

"
That is very good to hear, Mme. Noisette," said Malet with a bow. He turned away and took his two pistols from the pockets of his coat, unbuttoned and shed his topcoat, and laid it over a chair. He pulled off his gloves, folded them, and tucked them in the coat's pocket, then took his pistols over to the fireplace. "But what are you talking about?" he asked over his shoulder.

"
I am not a filbert! And I am talking about Yvette and M. Plougastel!" said Elise, frowning at him over the sock she was darning. "They conversed very comfortably, and I thought it proper to leave them to chat alone while I occupied myself at the other end of the salon."

"
Oh? Doing what?" Malet asked with a smile as he removed the percussion caps from his pistols and then placed the firearms on the mantelpiece while he reached for his pocket handkerchief. He paused as he caught sight of the letter and read the direction written on the cover.

Elise opened her eyes at him.
She was still a little annoyed at being compared to a hazelnut. "I was sketching," she said.

"
An artist, no less!" Malet said. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the smudges from the barrels of his guns as he returned the wide-eyed stare with one of his own.

Elise gave it up.
"Hardly," she said. "I learned, as every properly brought up girl does."

Malet set the guns down.
"What did you draw?" he asked. "Or do I embarrass you by asking?"

"
Just a quick sketch of Yvette.  It's in that portfolio there with some other sketches of my friends. "Some are good, and some are not - "

"
Your friends?" Malet asked.

"
No! The sketches! There's one of you in there."

"
My poor Elise!" Malet said on a laugh. "You must have been very bored! May I see them?"

Elise shrugged and blushed.
"They aren't very good, and I just draw what comes to mind." She stopped as she saw the coat and the gloves laid across the chair and noticed the absence of a hat. Her eyes raised to Malet's hair, which was a little wind-blown. "Did you go out in this wind without a hat?" she demanded.

"
I certainly did!" Malet answered lightly. "I dislike hats: I always have! Let me see the drawings."

"Y
ou might catch cold," Elise said. She watched as Malet opened her portfolio and leafed through it. "If you hate hats, why do you usually wear them?" she added as an afterthought.

"
Because going out without a hat would be like going out without trousers," Malet answered as he leafed through the drawings, addressing the second part of Elise's comments first. He paused and thought for a moment. "I beg pardon for my undress," he added with a wicked grin.

"
At any rate, I have a very strong constitution," he said absently a moment later, without looking up. "I'd have died of consumption long ago without it - this is an excellent likeness!" He held up a sketch of Yvette holding a vase of roses and smiling shyly. "You did that tonight?" he said. "Impressive!"

He passed some smaller sketches of Alcide and Claude, and smiled at Alcide's neckcloth.
"You got the folds right," he said as he touched the knot in the cravat.

"
It was kind of you to show him how to tie it," Elise said.

Malet shrugged.
"He's a good lad," he said. He set those portraits aside. The next sketch was of Charles de Saint-Légère. It was dated from April of 1832. Elise had lingered over the lines of his mouth and eyes. He seemed to be smiling.

Malet looked up at her after a moment, a slight frown in his eyes.

Elise kept darning. "Do you think it a good likeness?" she asked. "I tried to capture his smile..."

"
It seems good," he said calmly, and set the drawing down. He paused and then added, "He's written you faithfully. Do you miss him, then? Shall I see about recalling him?"

She turned the stocking she was darning and replied with a chuckle,
"No, don't try to act the matchmaker for me, M'sieur! Let us consider, instead, who we can marry you off to!"

Malet shrugged and eyed a drawing of Yves.
"At my age?" he asked. "It's a hopeless cause! Good God, look at this! I didn't know you were fond of drawing gorillas! What a lifelike grimace! I can almost hear him grunting! Why didn't you draw him beating his chest?"

"
Stop it! Yves isn't a gorilla, and you're never too old to marry.  There is Madame Villefranche, for example. A lovely woman, and very well bred - "

"
A poor match for a bastard, then.  Who'd want to marry me? Have you no dance-hall girls or whores for me? We'd suit better."

"
Nonsense!" said Elise. "Any lady would be happy to marry a man like you!"

Malet's eyes raised to her face.
"Do you think so?" he asked, momentarily intent. He scanned Yves' portrait once more and then shuffled it into the pile.

"
I do think so," Elise replied. "I thought so from the first, and even more now! And it is obvious that you are gently bred. One only need look at you to know."

"
The Duc d'Ingres resembles a pimp," Malet said, "So much for appearances. And I was disowned."

"
What is wrong with you?" Elise demanded. "Talking sense to you tonight is like trying to get a bell tone from a blancmange!"

Malet only smiled.
He was eyeing a page of small drawings, mostly self-portraits she had done to test her colors.

Elise sighed, exasperated.
"Well, there must have been a reason for them not acknowledging you," she said as she tied a knot in the thread and then snipped it. She set the mended stocking aside and took up another, shaking her head.

Malet shrugged.
"The fact that my mother killed my father probably had some bearing on the matter," he said. "And they did offer to take me fully into the family almost eight years ago. I told them to go to hell."

Elise stared at him.
"Why on earth did you do that?" she demanded.

"
Because they made me very angry," Malet replied. His frown was back and quite formidable. It faded after a moment, to be replaced by a warm smile, which he directed at Elise. "The de Colberts of Beaumesnil can go and hang themselves for all of me, so let us forget them! And Mme. Villefranche, as well!"

"
Are you saying that she should go hang herself?" Elise demanded, falling into his mood. "Shame on you! She is a charming lady!"

Malet lifted Elise's drawing of himself and looked it over with his eyebrows raised.
He was depicted beside a window, half-turned away. Elise had captured the slightly wistful expression that she had noticed several times. "I have no doubt," he said. "You know very well what I meant, Mme. de Clichy."

"
Well then, I will introduce you," Elise said, laughing across at him.

"
No: I am too old," Malet said firmly.

"
Pooh! How old are you?"

"
Forty-six next February," Malet replied. He was holding his portrait at arm's length and frowning at it.

"
Nonsense! Making a match for you would be an easy task! There are plenty of women who'd welcome a chance to meet you!"

Malet snorted and got to his feet, still holding the sketches.
"If you're trying to make me blush," he said, "I am sorry to inform you that it won't work. I lost the ability years ago! Let us agree to leave matchmaking aside. I was serious when I told you my heart was taken. Here are your drawings. They're very good."

"
Thank you," she said. "Do you find your portrait a good likeness?"

"
I can't say," Malet answered over his shoulder as he paced to the door and back. "I didn't recognize myself, if that's what you mean."

"
How could you not recognize yourself?" Elise demanded. The drawing had been a labor of love: she had spent a great deal of time and care over it. "I thought it was an excellent likeness!"

He shrugged apologetically from beside the door.
"I only see myself in the morning when I am an unshaven and blear-eyed oaf," he said. "I wouldn't recognize a portrait of myself if one were thrust in my face."

Elise stared at him as he turned and paced back toward her, trying to reconcile his usual bright
-eyed matutinal presence with the thought of an unshaven, blear-eyed oaf. It took a moment for her to realize that he was teasing her.

She threw the mended stocking at him.
"You!" she said. "M'sieur Mischief! Now what has put you in such a truly silly mood?"

He deftly caught the stocking and handed it to her.
"I am not in a silly mood," he said. "I am sorry. I am just - happy."

Elise smiled at him.
"Then I am glad to see it," she said. "You give yourself little time for happiness, that I have seen. Sit down: would you like some brandy?"